Modern Prose And Poetry; For Secondary Schools Part 21

"Of course," said kind-hearted Mrs. Hapford, mingling a drop of honey with the gall in the contributor's soul, "you only did your duty."

And indeed, as he turned away, he did not feel altogether without compensation. However Jonathan Tinker had fallen in his esteem as a man, he had even risen as literature. The episode which had appeared so perfect in its pathetic phases did not seem less finished as a farce; and this person, to whom all things of every-day life presented themselves in periods more or less rounded, and capable of use as facts or ill.u.s.trations, could not but rejoice in these new incidents, as dramatically fas.h.i.+oned as the rest. It occurred to him that, wrought into a story, even better use might be made of the facts now than before, for they had developed questions of character and of human nature which could not fail to interest. The more he pondered upon his acquaintance with Jonathan Tinker, the more fascinating the erring mariner became, in his complex truth and falsehood, his delicately blended shades of artifice and navete. He must, it was felt, have believed to a certain point in his own inventions: nay, starting with that groundwork of truth,--the fact that his wife was really dead, and that he had not seen his family for two years,--why should he not place implicit faith in all the fictions reared upon it? It was probable that he felt a real sorrow for her loss, and that he found a fantastic consolation in depicting the circ.u.mstances of her death so that they should look like his inevitable misfortunes rather than his faults. He might well have repented his offence during those two years of prison; and why should he not now cast their dreariness and shame out of his memory, and replace them with the freedom and adventure of a two years'

voyage to China,--so probable, in all respects, that the fact should appear an impossible nightmare? In the experiences of his life he had abundant material to furnish forth the facts of such a voyage, and in the weariness and la.s.situde that should follow a day's walking equally after a two years' voyage and two years' imprisonment, he had as much physical proof in favor of one hypothesis as the other. It was doubtless true, also, as he said, that he had gone to his house at dawn, and sat down on the threshold of his ruined home; and perhaps he felt the desire he had expressed to see his daughter, with a purpose of beginning life anew; and it may have cost him a veritable pang when he found that his little ones did not know him. All the sentiments of the situation were such as might persuade a lively fancy of the truth of its own inventions; and as he heard these continually repeated by the contributor in their search for Mr. Hapford, they must have acquired an objective force and repute scarcely to be resisted. At the same time, there were touches of nature throughout Jonathan Tinker's narrative which could not fail to take the faith of another. The contributor, in reviewing it, thought it particularly charming that his mariner had not overdrawn himself, or attempted to paint his character otherwise than as it probably was; that he had shown his ideas and practices of life to be those of a second mate, nor more nor less, without the gloss of regret or the pretences to refinement that might be pleasing to the supposed philanthropist with whom he had fallen in. Captain Gooding was of course a true portrait; and there was nothing in Jonathan Tinker's statement of the relations of a second mate to his superiors and his inferiors which did not agree perfectly with what the contributor had just read in "Two Years before the Mast,"--a book which had possibly cast its glamour upon the adventure. He admired also the just and perfectly characteristic air of grief in the bereaved husband and father,--those occasional escapes from the sense of loss into a brief hilarity and forgetfulness, and those relapses into the hovering gloom, which every one has observed in this poor, crazy human nature when oppressed by sorrow, and which it would have been hard to simulate. But, above all, he exulted in that supreme stroke of the imagination given by the second mate when, at parting, he said he believed he would go down and sleep on board the vessel. In view of this, the State's Prison theory almost appeared a malign and foolish scandal.

Yet even if this theory were correct, was the second mate wholly answerable for beginning his life again with the imposture he had practised? The contributor had either so fallen in love with the literary advantages of his forlorn deceiver that he would see no moral obliquity in him, or he had touched a subtler verity at last in pondering the affair. It seemed now no longer a farce, but had a pathos which, though very different from that of its first aspect, was hardly less tragical. Knowing with what coldness, or at the best, uncandor, he (representing Society in its att.i.tude toward convicted Error) would have met the fact had it been owned to him at first, he had not virtue enough to condemn the illusory stranger, who must have been helpless to make at once evident any repentance he felt or good purpose he cherished. Was it not one of the saddest consequences of the man's past,--a dark necessity of misdoing,--that, even with the best will in the world to retrieve himself, his first endeavor must involve a wrong? Might he not, indeed, be considered a martyr, in some sort, to his own admirable impulses? I can see clearly enough where the contributor was astray in this reasoning, but I can also understand how one accustomed to value realities only as they resembled fables should be won with such pensive sophistry; and I can certainly sympathize with his feeling that the mariner's failure to reappear according to appointment added its final and most agreeable charm to the whole affair, and completed the mystery from which the man emerged and which swallowed him up again.

NOTES

=Mr. Charles Reade=:--An English novelist (1814-1884).

=protege= (French):--A person under the care of another. The form given here is masculine; the feminine is _protegee_.

=coup de theatre=:--(French) A very striking scene, such as might appear on the stage.

=Two Years before the Mast=:--A sea story written by R.H. Dana, about 1840.

SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY

What is a romance? The phrase _already mentioned_ refers to earlier parts of the book _Suburban Sketches_, from which this story is taken.

What effect does the author gain by the ring at the door-bell? How does he give you a quick and vivid idea of the visitor? What significance do the man's clothes have in the story? By means of what devices does the author interest you in the stranger? Do adventures really happen in everyday life? Why does the author speak of one's own "register"? Mr.

Howells has written a number of novels in which he pictures ordinary people, and shows the romance of commonplace events. Why does the listener "exult"? How does the man's story affect you? What is gained by having it told in his own words? Is Jonathan Tinker's toast a happy one?

What does the contributor mean by saying that he would have been a good subject for "the predatory arts"? _The last horse-car_: To Boston; the scene is probably laid in Cambridge where Mr. Howells lived for some years. In what way does the sailor's language emphasize the pathetic quality of his story? How was the man "literature made to the author's hand"? What are the "national traditions" mentioned in connection with the boy? Why was the story regarded as "too perfect" when it was related at home? In what way was Julia Tinker's face "disappointing"? How does the author feel when he hears the facts in the case? Why does he resolve never to do a good deed again? The author gives two reasons why Jonathan Tinker did not tell the truth: what seems to you the real reason?

Characterize Tinker in your own words. Is the ending of the selection satisfactory? Did you think that Tinker would come back? Can you make a little drama of this story?

THEME SUBJECTS

An Old Sailor People who do not Tell the Truth The Forsaken House Asking Directions A Tramp The Lost Address An Evening at Home A Sketch of Julia Tinker The Surprise A Long-lost Relative What Becomes of the Ex-Convicts?

The Jail A Stranger in Town A Late Visitor What I Think of Jonathan Tinker The Disadvantages of a Lively Imagination Unwelcome If Jonathan Tinker had Told the Truth The Lie A Call at a Stranger's House An Unfortunate Man A Walk in Dark Streets The Sea Captain Watching the Sailors

SUGGESTIONS FOR WRITING

=A Late Visitor=:--Try to write this in the form of a dialogue or little play. The host is reading or conversing in the family sitting-room, when the doorbell rings. There is a conversation at the door, and then the caller is brought in. Perhaps the stranger has some evil design. Perhaps he (or she) is lost, or in great need. Perhaps he turns out to be in some way connected with the family. Think out the plan of the dialogue pretty thoroughly before you begin to write. It is possible that you will want to add a second act in which the results of the first are shown. Plan your stage directions with the help of some other drama, as, for instance, that given on page 52.

=The Lie=:[13]--This also may be written in the form of a slight dramatic composition. There might be a few brief scenes, according to the following plan:--

Scene 1: The lie is told.

Scene 2: It makes trouble.

Scene 3: It is found out.

Scene 4: Complications are untangled, and the lie is atoned for.

(Perhaps this scene can be combined with the preceding.)

=A Long-lost Relative=:--This may be taken from a real or an imaginary circ.u.mstance. Tell of the first news that the relative is coming. Where has he (or she) been during the past years? Speak of the period before the relative arrives: the conjectures as to his appearance; the preparations made; the conversation regarding him. Tell of his arrival.

Is his appearance such as has been expected? Describe him rather fully.

What does he say and do? Does he make himself agreeable? Are his ideas in any way peculiar? Do the neighbors like him? Give some of the incidents of his visit. Tell about his departure. Are the family glad or sorry to have him go? What is said about him after he has gone? What has been heard of him since?

COLLATERAL READINGS

Suburban Sketches William Dean Howells A Boy's Town " " "

The Rise of Silas Lapham " " "

The Minister's Charge " " "

Their Wedding Journey " " "

The Lady of the Aroostook " " "

Venetian Life " " "

Italian Journeys " " "

The Mouse Trap (a play) " " "

Evening Dress (a play) " " "

The Register (a play) " " "

The Elevator (a play) " " "

Unexpected Guests (a play) " " "

The Albany Depot (a play) " " "

Literary Friends and Acquaintances " " "

Their California Uncle Bret Harte A Lodging for the Night R.L. Stevenson Kidnapped " "

Ebb Tide " "

Enoch Arden Alfred Tennyson Rip Van Winkle Was.h.i.+ngton Irving Wakefield Nathaniel Hawthorne Two Years before the Mast R.H. Dana Out of Gloucester J.B. Connolly Jean Valjean (from _Les Miserables_) Victor Hugo (Ed. S.E. Wiltse) Historic Towns of New England (Cambridge) L.P. Powell (Ed.) Old Cambridge T.W. Higginson American Authors at Home, pp. 193-211 J.L. and J.B. Gilder American Authors and their Homes, pp. 99-110 F.W. Halsey American Writers of To-day, pp. 43-68 H.C. Vedder

Bookman, 17:342 (Portrait); 35:114, April, 1912; Current Literature, 42:49, January, 1907 (Portrait).

THE WILD RIDE

LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY

_I hear in my heart, I hear in its ominous pulses All day, on the road, the hoofs of invisible horses, All night, from their stalls, the importunate pawing and neighing_.

Let cowards and laggards fall back! but alert to the saddle, Weather-worn and abreast, go men of our galloping legion, With a stirrup-cup each to the lily of women that loves him.

The trail is through dolour and dread, over crags and mora.s.ses; There are shapes by the way, there are things that appal or entice us: What odds? We are Knights of the Grail, we are vowed to the riding.

Thought's self is a vanis.h.i.+ng wing, and joy is a cobweb, And friends.h.i.+p a flower in the dust, and glory a sun-beam: Not here is our prize, nor, alas! after these our pursuing.

A dipping of plumes, a tear, a shake of the bridle, A pa.s.sing salute to this world and her pitiful beauty: We hurry with never a word in the track of our fathers.

(_I hear in my heart, I hear in its ominous pulses All day, on the road, the hoofs of invisible horses, All night, from their stalls, the importunate pawing and neighing._)

We spur to a land of no name, out-racing the storm-wind; We leap to the infinite dark like sparks from the anvil.

Thou leadest, O G.o.d! All's well with Thy troopers that follow.

SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY

This poem is somewhat like the _Road-Hymn for the Start_, on page 184.

It is about those people who go forward eagerly into the work of the world, without fearing, and without shrinking from difficulties. Read it through completely, trying to get its meaning. Regard the lines in italic as a kind of chorus, and study the meaning of the other stanzas first. Who are the galloping legions? A _stirrup-cup_ was a draught of wine, taken just before a rider began his journey; it was usually drunk to some one's health. Is _dolour_ a common word? Is it good here? Try to put into your own words the ideas in the "land of no name," and "the infinite dark," remembering what is said above about the general meaning of the poem. What picture and what idea do you get from "like sparks from the anvil"? Now go back to the lines in italic, and look for their meaning.